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And call him Madam, do him all obeisance.
May few her duty, and make known her love?
And with declining head into his bofom,
(5) Who for these feven Years batb efteam'd bimself
No better tban a poor and loathsome Beggar. ] I have ventured to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, I shall be justified in it by two fubfequent Passages. That the Poet design'd, the Tinker's supposed Lunacy thould be of fourteen Years ftanding at least, is evident upon two parallel Pallages in the Play to that Purpose.
SCENE changes to à Bedchamber in the a:
Enter Sly with Attendants, Some with apparel, bafon and
ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.
OR God's fake, a pot of fmall ale.
of sack? 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour tafte of these Conserves? 3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to day?
Sly. I am Christophero Sly, call not me Honour, nor Lordship: I ne'er drank fack in my life: and if you give me any Conserves, give me Conserves of beef : ne'er ask me what raiment l'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more ftockings than legs, nor. no more shoes than feet ; nay, fometimes, more feet than shoes; or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour ! Oh, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such poffeflions, and so high esteem, Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit ! Sly. What, would you make me mad i am not 1.3
. Christophero Sly, old sty's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profession a tinker? alk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not; if the fay, I am not fourteen-pence on the score for sheer ale, fcore me up for the lying 'st knave in Christendom. What, I am not beftraught: here's
1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your servants droop.
Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred fhun your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
Oh, noble Lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banithment, • And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look, how thy servants do attend on thee;
1 Man. Say, thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe.
2 Man. Dok thou love piðures ? we will fetch thee trait
Lord. We'll fhew thee lo, as she was a maid,
3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing buz a Lord :
1 Man. And 'till the tears, that the hath shed for thee,
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd 'till now?
2 Man. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly napi But did I never speak of all that time?
1 Man. Oh, yes, my Lord, but very idle words.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house; nor no such maid; Nor no such men, as you
Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends !
Sly. By-th? mass, I think I am a Lord indeed.
Man. Sim, an't please your Honour.
Sly. Sim? that's as much as to say, Simeon or Simon ; put forth thy hand and fill the pot.
[The servant gives him drink.
Enter Lady, with Attendants.
I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
Lady. How fares my noble Lord?
Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her ?
Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men should call me Lord, I am your good
Lady. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband; I am
your wife in all obedience. Sly. I know it well; what must I call her? Lord. Madam. Sly. Alce madam, or Joan madam! Lord. Madam, and nothing else, so lords call ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee.' Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and slept above some fifteen
and more. Lady. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.
Sly. 'Tis much Servants, leave ine and her alone : Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink
Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of you,
Sly. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry so long ; but I would be loath to fall into my dream again : I will therefore tarry in despight of the flesh and the blood,